


Working Title

by The_Accidental_Book_Thief



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cliffhangers, Deal With It, Fantasy, I waffle on quite a bit, I wrote this a long time ago please cut me some slack, It doesn't get good until the end, It's highkey rlly dumb but I wrote it in 8th grade what else do you expect, Other, Sorry Not Sorry, The Author Regrets Everything, why am i like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 20:30:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14433504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Accidental_Book_Thief/pseuds/The_Accidental_Book_Thief





	Working Title

The July of 1885 brought with it sweltering weather, homemade ice-creams, and most importantly, my cousin’s wedding party. The ceremony was over, as it had taken place that morning, so at noon everyone had gathered on the emerald lawn of my grandmother’s estate. Rainbows of brocade and silk swirled around black top hats and suits while the lively duo of the fiddle and flute danced through the air and brought everyone’s feet to life. Even from far off, the heady yet oddly pleasant scent of perfumes, cologne, and hors d'oeuvres could still somewhat reach me.

The only issue with the whole situation was that, up close, the whole environment was full of suffocating heat, gossip, and frivolity that I wouldn’t enter under many circumstances, and especially not wearing such a boa constrictor of a dress as I did now. I instead chose a much more comfortable place to observe all this fuss: the soft, dappled light under an old willow tree several meters from the ridiculousness where I was much less likely to die of heatstroke. My grandfather, who liked the spot as much as I did and had the same antisocial tendencies, had built a small swing with a wooden plank and a spool of rope. This is where I now sat, feeling the rough rope rub comfortingly against my arm as I flipped through the yellowing pages of a well-worn tome I’d smuggled in via a hidden pocket in my petticoats that I’d sewn in the night before.

A smooth voice then broke through the faint hum of the party music, shattering the image of the words in my mind. I jumped a foot in the air, and as I caught my breath, I looked up to face a boy about my age. He was tall and lanky with raven hair that stuck up in the back, startling kelly green eyes, and ivory skin that popped out against his black suit.

“What are you reading?”

“Um-” I glanced down at the soft chestnut cover of the book. “Cornwell's Index of Mythical Creatures. It’s just a book on different creatures from fairy tales and legends...” I let my voice trail off. “So, what’s your name?”

“Mark.” He reached out a one pale, rough hand for me to shake and I couldn’t help but notice the rich ebony hue of a serpentine tattoo peeking out from under his shirtsleeve as I took it.

“I’m Amelia,” I replied, confused at the use of his Christian name but not willing to make it awkward in not using mine. I nodded toward the chattering guests and clinking champagne flutes. “I see you aren’t much for parties either.”

He chuckled. “That’s true. So who are you here with?”

“I live here,” I said. “Grandmother forced me to come out and meet some people. What about you?”

“I’m here with Leandra’s mother. She’s uh- she’s my sister.”

A sickening lump rose in my throat. I knew instantly that he was was lying, and he was horrid at it. Leandra’s mother was dead. He couldn’t have possibly been at the wedding, or he would have noticed the vacant seat for the mother of the bride and he wouldn’t have made up the story he did. And if he and Leandra had been siblings, I would have met him before now.

“You know,” I mused, “I had no idea that ghosts could attend wedding parties.”

Mark turned whiter than a newly starched sheet. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“Leandra’s mother has been dead for ten years. She died in the same flu epidemic as my parents. She's also an only child.” I gripped the smooth book and poised to run, my heart beating out a distress signal. “Who are you?”

Mark sighed and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I did tell you my real name, but I lied about where I came from. I’m a sort of- well, you'd know what it is. It's in your book there." There was a sort of red flash in his eyes and the book fell out of my hand and onto the ground, open to the page on-

"Druids?"

"Druids."

"But those don't-"

"Oh yes," he laughed, nodding his head slightly. "They do. But not exactly like in your book. We don't live in forests anymore, for one."

“You’re mad. Absolutely mad.”

"I'm afraid not. Listen. We don't have much time. You know we can see the future to an extent, yes?"

"Supposedly, but-"

"There's something about to happen. Something bad. We don't know quite what it is, all we know is many, many people will die if we don't stop it. And you're meant to help us do that."

I would have run, but something- like a tether- held my feet to the ground. Mark’s tattoo was more visible now- glowing blood red under the black of his sleeve- and his eyes glowed crimson. My heart pounded into my chest as if _it_ were trying to escape too. Mark’s voice became more powerful somehow, and it seemed to reverberate in my ears without any change of volume on his part. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t even open my mouth to scream.

“I told you I don’t have much time. Now, _are you going to help me or not_?”

THE END

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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